


In The Bathroom Is Where I Want You

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-21
Updated: 2006-08-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: In which Sam and Dean get down 'n dirrrty in a club.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title:  In The Bathroom Is Where I Want You  
Author: closetcrombie  
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean  
Rating: NC-17  
Category: slash  
Word Count: 2308  
Spoilers: none  
Summary: In which Sam and Dean get down 'n dirrrty in a club.  
Warnings: Incest, bathroom!sex, sorta-exhibitionist!Dean  
Disclaimer: Yeah, this is me not owning them, or making any money off of this.  
Notes: This little thing has been done for a while. I was saving it for a special occasion. Easter? Total special occasion. Enjoy, y'all.  
  
 

  
  
“Ah, come on Sam.”  
  
Dean is sporting a half grin that Sam just knows isn’t going to bode well for him if Dean gets his way.  
  
“No, Dean. I need to stay here and work.”  
  
Rolling his eyes, Dean says, “Oh please. Work on what exactly?”  
  
“Well, for starters I have to--”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, you gotta do something for some bullshit and blah blah whatever. Get up, we’re going out.”  
  
“Dean, I said no.”  
  
“Yeah? Well, this is me saying I don‘t care. You’ve been looking stressed for a while now, and I need you in peak condition for when we gotta work the schmucks on whatever case we get next. Cause, you know, the puppy dog eyes don’t work so well when you look like you haven’t slept in a month.”  
  
“Dean, I feel that it’s my right as your younger brother to tell you to fuck off and let me work.”  
  
“And I feel that it’s my _duty_ as your older brother to tell you that you look like shit, and that the next time you tell me to fuck off I‘ll kick your ass. So get up. We’re going out, you’re getting drunk, and maybe even laid. You won‘t regret it, I promise.”  
  
“But Dean, I have to--”  
  
“Sam, you _will_ be working. Just, instead of working the computer, you’ll be working the ladies.”  
  
Dean pauses.  
  
“Well, _I’ll_ be working the ladies. You’ll probably stand there looking lost, cause that’s just what you do.”  
  
Before he can protest, Sam is told, “Now get your ass in the car, we’re leaving. And for God’s sake, take off that damn hoody - it’s like 95° out here.”  
  
******  
  
The club is packed, and Sam isn’t exactly sure how they get in without waiting in line, because when he asks Dean just says something cryptic about connections.  
  
There is a crazy beat pounding over the speakers, all bass and synth, and Sam’s eyes have a bit of trouble adjusting to the strobe lighting.  
  
“Jesus fuck, Dean. This isn’t a club, it’s a rave.”  
  
Dean shrugs without glancing back so much as once and makes his way to the bar. He tries chatting up the bartender, and when that doesn’t work out, he settles for ordering a beer, taking a few sips before working his way out onto the jam packed dance floor, leaving the bottle on the bar.  
  
Sam follows Dean’s path to the bar, telling the bar tender to give him the strongest stuff she‘s got. She leans over and says, “Is that your boyfriend?” She nods towards the area that Dean is dancing in.  
  
Sam looks over, startled.  
  
“That’s my brother.”  
  
The bartender raises an eyebrow.  
  
“That so, huh? Then why are you staring at his ass?”  
  
Sam just looks at her for a second before replying, “I never said he wasn’t my boyfriend.”  
  
Sam walks away from the bar feeling better than he has all day - the bartender’s shocked face still fresh on his mind.  
  
He spends the next hour or so nursing his drink, resolutely refusing to get drunk like Dean wanted him to. Every now and then he looks up and sees Dean dancing with some random girl or guy, smiling sinfully and grinding against whatever partner he may have at that given time.  
  
Sam catches himself thinking that it’s pathetic he’s even here, and more so that the whole reason he’s here is currently ignoring him in favor of - he looks out at the dance floor - some red-haired bitch with fake tits.  
  
Sighing in self disgust, Sam gets up from his seat and makes his way towards the bathroom on the other side of the club - unaware that Dean’s eyes are following him the entire way.  
  
******  
  
Sam goes into a stall once he’s in the restroom and sits down on the closed toilet. The blaring techno music is muffled by the thick walls, and all he can hear is the _thump thump thump_ of the bass playing over the club’s PA.  
  
He rubs his temples, and listens to a number of people enter and leave the bathroom. When he’s fairly certain that he’s the only one inside, he unlatches the stall door and goes to the sink area, splashing his face with cold water.  
  
He looks up into the mirror and thinks to himself that Dean is right - he does look worn out. He has darkish circles under his eyes, and his hair is in a wild disarray. He vaguely registers that someone else has come into the bathroom as he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror above the sink.  
  
He jumps when he feels hands on his hips, pulling them back to grind his ass against a hard, denim clad cock, and Sam jerks himself away, preparing to beat the shit out of whoever it is that thinks they can do that to him.  
  
Until he sees that it’s Dean, and then he starts preparing to beat the shit out of _him_ for scaring him like that.  
  
“What the fuck, Dean?!”  
  
Dean smirks.  
  
“Oh, what? You like it.”  
  
Sam isn’t cracking on this one.  
  
“You scared the shit out of me! God, I thought some stupid, drunk fucker was looking for a good time humping the nearest living thing.”  
  
Dean makes a thoughtful face, pretending to mull it over.  
  
“Well, I’m not stupid, and I swear on all that’s holy if you say something to that I’ll leave your ass here, and I’m not drunk, yet. I could say something about myself being a fucker I suppose, but you already know all about that one, don’t you Sam?”  
  
Sam glares.  
  
“Ha fucking ha ha, Dean. Why did you bring me here?”  
  
Dean looks confused.  
  
“Whoa, what’s with the hostility little brother? I brought you here so you could have a good time.”  
  
Sam laughs shortly.  
  
“Really? Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m having a horrible time, so I guess your little plan failed miserably didn’t it?”  
  
Dean mouth curves into a smile that Sam has seen many times before, and he is immediately wary.  
  
“Okay,” Dean says, sauntering over to his brother, “I guess I’ll just have to take it upon myself to see that your night gets steadily better from this point on, now won’t I?”  
  
With that, he grabs Sam by the shirt and shoves him into an empty stall. Sam’s legs connect with the toilet, and he falls next to it, hissing in pain.  
  
“Damn it, Dean! What the hell are you doing?”  
  
Dean turns from locking the stall door and looks down, appearing surprised to see Sam there.  
  
“Sam, when did you get here? And why are you on the floor?”  
  
Dean reaches down and grabs Sam by the forearms, hauling him upright and pressing him against the wall, holding him in place with his body, grinding their hips together ruthlessly. Sam hears the bathroom door swing open and panics.  
  
“Dean,” he whispers harshly, “someone’s coming!”  
  
Dean just grinds into him harder, smirking.  
  
“Well, it’s obviously not me, so that leaves you. I didn’t think it would be that easy, Sammy. I gotta say, this doesn’t speak well of your stamina.”  
  
Sam swats him on the back of the head, shushing him, saying, “You know that’s not what I meant! Now get off me, someone’s in here and they might hear us!”  
  
Shrugging nonchalantly, Dean just says, “Then I guess you’ll have to be extra quiet won’t you?” and continues gyrating, reaching down and moving Sam’s legs until they’re locked around his hips behind his back.  
  
“Now,” Dean says in a stage whisper, “is this going to be a dry hump situation, or are we gonna get down and dirty right here in this bathroom stall?”  
  
Sam whimpers quietly, ears trained on the other man still in the restroom, and says, “How about we go back to the motel and do this right?”  
  
Dean thrusts against him, hard, and laughs.  
  
“Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?”  
  
Sam shoots back,  
  
“Fuck off, Dean.”  
  
Dean goes still for a moment, then says, “That was a bitchy thing to say, Sammy. So now I’m going to take the decision out of your hands.”  
  
Dean untangles Sam’s legs from behind him, and starts undoing his jeans, sliding them down past his thighs and sits on the toilet, cock standing at attention like the good little soldier that Dean himself is. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms, staring at Sam, daring him with his eyes to say something else.  
  
Sam marvels at the fact that even now, sitting on a toilet in the bathroom of a club, pants around his ankles - Dean is still the hottest mother fucker alive.  
  
His cock gives an interested twitch when Dean speaks again.  
  
“I am going to fuck you, Sam. Right here, in this bathroom stall. You’re going to come so hard that you see stars, I swear to god, and maybe next time I won’t have to resort to this to get you to snap out of your funk.”  
  
Sam bites his lip to keep from saying something that might piss Dean off even further.  
  
“Well?” Dean says. “Pants off. Now.”  
  
Glaring, Sam starts to protest.  
  
“Wait a minute, Dean. You can’t make me do th--”  
  
Dean growls, and cuts him off.  
  
 “I’m not in a waiting sort of mood right now, for one. And I can make you do anything I want, for another. So strip.”  
  
And Sam does, because when his brother gets into that ‘Obey me.’ attitude, it’s pretty much futile to resist.  
  
Se he toes off his sneakers first, and unbuttons his jeans, feeling small and young underneath Dean’s heavy gaze. He drags his zipper down, and sighs because his erection hasn’t gone away, even with the argument and it‘s ridiculously glad to have been let out of it‘s prison.  
  
He pulls down his jeans and boxers in one motion and kicks them away, standing in front of his brother in the cramped confines of the stall. Dean gives him a once over and smiles, beckoning Sam forward.  
  
Sam straddles his brothers legs, and Dean’s cock slides sensuously over his asshole to nestle firmly between the cheeks of his ass. Sam grinds down, and his head falls forward to rest against Dean’s shoulder.  
  
He feels his brother pulling on his hair, so he raises his head again, still rocking against Dean’s erection. Dean’s lips find his and Sam whimpers quietly into the kiss, still aware that they are in a very public place. Dean’s tongue snakes into his mouth and Sam sucks on the invading organ lightly before tangling his own with it.  
  
Dean pulls back, panting. His skin is flushed with a sex-glow, and Sam thanks every god he can thank of that this man is _his_.  
  
Dean traces over Sam’s lips with two fingers, applying light pressure, and Sam sucks them into his mouth, laving them, and delighting in the salty-sweet taste of Dean’s skin. Sam lets his teeth graze Dean’s fleshy fingers lightly and hollows out his cheeks with suction, promising the same to Dean’s cock at a later time with his eyes.  
  
He’s pretty sure Dean gets the message, because he grins, and humps up against Sam’s ass.  
  
Suddenly Dean’s fingers are no longer in his mouth, and Sam keens at the loss for a second before he feels the spit-coated fingers probing at his asshole. Dean shoves them in harshly, and starts to scissor them before Sam can catch his breath.  
  
He finds Sam’s prostate not too long after that, and Sam’s breathy moan carries throughout the entire bathroom.  
  
There is a knock at the stall door.  
  
“Is everything okay in there?”  
  
Sam is petrified, because he knows he’s supposed to answer that question, but at the same time Dean’s cock is finally entering him and he can’t _think_ much less _speak_. Dean comes to the rescue.  
  
“Yes sir, everything’s fine. My brother just had a bit too much to drink, and it’s playing hell on him.”  
  
The man at the door ‘tsk’s and says, “Do you need me to call anyone?”  
  
Dean thrusts roughly into Sam once - twice - and replies, voice remarkably even, “No, thank you. I can take care of him.”  
  
“Alright then.”  
  
The man walks away, and Dean whispers, “Do you want me to take care of you, Sammy?”  
  
Sam bites onto Dean’s shoulder, hissing a frantic “Yes!” into his ear, and Dean slams into him again, one of his hands reaching down to grasp Sam’s leaking cock and pulling it roughly, matching the almost brutal pace he sets with his hips.  
  
“Come on, Sam. Come for me, baby. We gotta make this quick.”  
  
Dean’s cock repeatedly brushes against Sam’s prostate, and he has to bite down on his lip to keep from screaming. His brothers hand speeds up, and his thumb reaches out to dip into Sam’s slit at exactly the same time that Dean’s cock lands a particularly hard thrust dead on his prostate, (“Oh, _god_ …Dean, _fuck_!) and Sam comes to the sound of his brother groaning his name and the feel of his brother come coating his insides scaldingly. And yes, he does see stars. But damned if he’s going to tell Dean that.  
  
Sam collapses forward onto Dean, arms around his brother’s neck, and kisses him behind his ear, sighing contentedly.  
  
“Somehow,” Dean says, “’I told you so’ just doesn’t cut it.”  
  
Sam mumbles something into his brother’s neck.  
  
“What was that,” Dean asks.  
  
Sam raises up and glares at him, looking annoyed.  
  
“I _said_ , ‘Can you let me have my damned afterglow just _once_?’”  
  
Dean’s look says, ‘ _You‘re an idiot_.’  
  
“Dude, we’re Winchesters. We don‘t _do_ afterglows.”  
  
~  
 


End file.
